


Like Magnets

by cyndrarae



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Gen, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, POV First Person, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:24:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10100705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyndrarae/pseuds/cyndrarae
Summary: Imagine a world after the war (of Season 7.) Imagine Negan and Grimes on a supply run together, talking about stuff and thangs, such as magnets.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I rarely write first person POV because it's hard and scary and for some strange reason frowned upon in fanfiction. But I wanted to give it a shot anyway, hope you do too!

 

“You’re welcome, you know.”

I say it not because I want to, but because he expects me to. Frankly, I’m too tired to keep up my usual banter today. But class-one assholes like me don’t take sick days as far as Grimes is concerned, so I try.

“I had it under control. You didn’t _have_ to.”

“You’re so _half_ -right there.”

Grimes turns towards me for a hot second, glares, makes sure I see it, and looks away. He does it on purpose, I know. Like he’s doing me a favor. Like he thinks that I live for moments like these – for a member (any member) of the Grimes family to so much as acknowledge my fucking presence in their lives or something.

He isn’t wrong.

 

The remains of the walker I just pulverized with my dear Lucille squelch under our feet as we circle the pier a couple more times.

“Looks clear enough,” he declares. “But daylight’s running out fast. You take that barge on the left, I’ll take the right.”

“How about I just come with you?”

And once again I get the stink-eye. On that face, scarred and splotched in near-black walker blood as it is, adorable should be the last adjective springing to my mind. And it sure shouldn’t make me smile. But it does.

“I let you join this run on the sole condition that you’ll follow my lead. You promised.”

“Yeah, but what if there are more walkers inside? We could both use the backup, that’s the smart play.”

“I can take care of myself,” he stalks off, no longer willing to entertain my wholly rational logic.

“Well, maybe _I_ can’t.”

“So much for ‘cross my fucking heart and hope to fucking die,’” Grimes mocks me pretty damn accurately, but otherwise acts like he doesn’t care either way.

I throw my head back, but still follow him towards the barge of his choice because the big bad Negan does what he wants. Well, pretends to, at least. Grimes wields a machete with a red handle in his right hand. One he swings back and forth as if hacking away at walker ghosts around him, clearing his path to the rotting boat. How it’s still afloat after so many years is seriously beyond me.

 

“Why’d you come anyway? I thought the terms of the truce say we can’t interfere in each other’s supply runs ever.”

“Hey, I shared this lead with y'all, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, and why was that, exactly?”

Why indeed. It’s a good question, except I know that isn’t the question he really wants me to answer.

Why did I agree to the truce in the first place? Why did I let all the Alexandrians go? Why, when I could’ve so easily destroyed their leader by simply taking out his helpless children?

Why am I not the man I was a year ago? 

“Like I said before, I made an investment in you, Grimes, a big one. And I’m here to safeguard it.”

He keeps his head down, not buying it for a second. He climbs onto the boat, and the decaying wood splinters loudly under his weight. Not that he weighs much, lean and wiry as he is. I squash the sudden urge to whisk him away to the Sanctuary and feed him a big, hearty lunch.

 

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty…” I bang the side of every shipping container in my path. If there are any walkers left up here, they don’t seem too keen on coming out to play.

We stay on high alert anyway, until we find a couple of containers still locked. Breaking into them is easy thanks to the bolt cutters that Grimes had the foresight to carry.

“Jeeh-zus!” Turns out the new Hilltop leader’s intelligence was on point. Large shipments of explosives smuggled in from Columbia are just sitting here, right where Jesus said they’d be.

“Love the smell of napalm in the morning!” Yeah I just can’t help it. As expected, Grimes rewards my wit with a hard glower because  _he_ can’t help it either. Grump is his resting face, at least with me. Guess killing some of your best friends while you can do nothing but watch will do that to you.

“This is huge. We should’ve let Aaron come along.”

“Who're you underestimating, me or yourself? We can handle it. Just go get the truck onto the pier.”

 

We work together in comfortable silence (well, it’s tolerable for me, can’t say what he is thinking) until all the crates are locked and loaded. I haven’t had to do so much manual labor in a long, long time. But it’s not like I’m out of shape or anything. Vanity has its advantages after all.

My co-runner scowls at me while I check out my bearded face in one of the side mirrors on the truck. “I really must shave this shit.”

Frankly, Grimes could do with a little grooming himself. The tattered jeans look like they’re twice his age. The t-shirt must surely have been white at some point but is now a vomit-inducing shade of brown. The boots look like they’ve been re-soled at least a couple hundred times; bet they were falling apart long before the world did. If he’d just come with me to the Sanctuary, I could have D find some… fuck, there I go again, wanting to fucking take care of him.

 

“You’re staring at me. Again.”

I blink, but I don’t stop. “In case you haven’t noticed, that’s kind of what I do. I watch people. It is how I get to know them better, their strengths, their weaknesses…”

“Yeah? Well, _I_ already know your weaknesses, Negan. I know what you want.”

That pesky little nerve in the column of my neck starts to throb. I clamp my jaw down to try and stop it. Grimes sighs and leans against the truck. He has to crane up to look at me at this angle, given our height difference, not that it deters him, ever.

“I know why you’re hanging around Alexandria so much these days.”

I pull my leather jacket off, suddenly too hot for it. Not doing it just for the sake of having something to _do_ , something to focus on other than his accusatory, whiny, voice fucking with my chi. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s great that our communities are getting along. But we’re not idiots. Don’t for a second think I bought your ‘let’s work together to fend off the psycho Scavengers’ pitch.”

He uses air quotes for that last bit. Which is hilarious because it occurs to me that I haven’t seen anyone use those things since the world went to hell in a handbasket. Like, _no one_. Maybe they’re shit scared of me. Maybe in this saga of horror slash tragedy, they’ve forgotten the fine art of sarcasm slash irony. Maybe this whole damn world has been bracketed inside a cosmic pair of fucking air quotes and the gods are having a big fucking laugh at our expense.

 

“I see how you look at me,” Grimes continues, pulling me out of my mental rant. “I see how you look at… at my family. How you’ve _always_ looked at them, since the first moment you met all of us.” 

What a fuck-load of time and effort it takes to pull my face up into a shit-eating grin. 

“I always knew you were a sneaky little badass, Grimes. So this is why you let me tag along, didn’t you? So you could use this opportunity to tell me to fuck the hell off?” 

He frowns at that, then almost carelessly tilts his head to one side in a way that’s clearly genetic. “I didn’t say that.” 

Okay, it’s my turn to frown now.

 

Grimes crosses his arms in front of his too-thin chest. “We’ve been through so much, lost so many loved ones, suffered so much pain, and especially after Michonne, it’s… it’s been…” 

He sighs and lowers his gaze, reminding me of how young he still is. And yet, moments later when he looks back up, the crystal blue of his one good eye shimmers with an acceptance that’s way beyond his years. 

“Just don’t hurt him, okay? Because if you do, I’ll… I’ll…” 

I need a second to figure out what’s being said, and _not_ said, and one more second after that to recapture the air that was knocked out of my lungs two seconds ago. I put a hand on his nearest shoulder without really thinking about it. Not sure who’s more surprised he doesn’t shrug me off – me or himself. 

“Go on then.” 

“Go on with what?” 

“Tell me what you’ll do, if I ever hurt your dad.”

 

He scowls again, his expression of teenage derision back at full strength. 

“Do not disappoint me, Grimes. Don’t give me the obvious ‘I’ll cut off your fucking nuts’ canned shit. Be creative, think out of the box here. Come on.” 

He glares at me some more, clearly biting back a chuckle that’s been building since the moment we left Alexandria. So very like his father. Rick doesn’t like to admit how he finds me funny and devilishly charming either. 

“All right, you asked for it.” 

He pulls up to his full height of _nearly_ me, looks me in the eye with all the seriousness a sixteen-year old can muster. And he sure can muster a fucking lot. 

“If you ever, _ever_ hurt Rick Grimes, if you break his heart, I’ll have Eugene cast you in smelt from head to toe, while you’re still alive. We’ll leave you two holes – one to breathe through, and one at your stomach just big enough for walkers to put their hand in and pull your guts out. Eat you alive, slowly, as slowly as fucking possible.” 

“…” 

“How’s that?” 

“That’s… actually very good. A-plus for the visual details. Well done.”

 

I hold a fist up for him to bump, and of course he makes me wait. In true Grimes style, he drops his gaze to my knuckles and just looks at them for like three decades. 

“Come on, badass. Put it in there.” 

“Not until you say it.” 

I lean forward so he can clearly see how serious I am. “I’ll never, ever hurt you, Carl, or Judith, or your dad. _Never again_.” 

The last two words give him a start but he doesn’t say anything. I wonder if I’ve made a mistake reminding him of days gone by, the things we’ve done to each other. I wonder if he’s caught on to the fact that I just admitted guilt; something I’ve never done before, not even to Rick.

 

“What about your wives? Plural?” 

“All gone. It’s not like the marriages were legally binding or anything. Terms of the truce right – no community can hold people against their will and all that democratic BS that Ezekiel – I’m sorry – _King_ Ezekiel insisted on. And that paradox still blows my mind by the way, how come nobody else cared?”

Grimes smirks, “It’s more human rights, less politics. You won't understand.”

“Bitch please! Of all the fucking communities around here only the Saviors never turned anyone down. Did you know that? We have no audition process, no vetting of your finances or your moral compass or any shit like that. We take you in no questions asked. And as long as you play by the rules – my rules – you have a home. Not even your dad can say that.”

The kid’s flashing back, I can see it in his face, but he gets back on track fairly quickly. “See that’s just it – you and Dad – you couldn’t be more different if you tried. So how is this working, exactly?” 

I shrug and point Lucille up in the air. “Like magnets. You know, opposites attract?” 

It’s not a satisfactory answer, and truth is I don’t have one. I’ve no fucking idea. 

“So, do we have a deal or what?”

 

Grimes shifts from one foot to the next, then apparently makes up his mind. He rams his fist into mine with more force than is probably necessary. It is better than I expected, and probably more than I deserve. 

“Come on then, before your father loses another year of his life waiting for your safe return.”

 

 

**** || ** || ** || ****

 

 

The sun’s a dull ball of orange sliding down the sky by the time we reach Alexandria. Gabriel opens the gate and fixes me with his own version of a patronizing, passive aggressive stink-eye. Everyone here has one special, just for me. I don’t hold it against them. Reminds me of my in-laws.

Grimes, the _other_ Grimes, has fallen asleep in his recliner on the back porch – wait for it – waiting for his son’s safe return home. Judy is keeping herself busy by his feet. She’s building imaginary sand castles using his pretty toes for merlons, not that she knows what merlons mean. It’s shocking to see this three-year old conduct her entire fucking business in utter silence. She’s a little ass-kicker all right. (Note to self never to use that moniker in front of Rick though. It makes him think of Daryl who still hasn’t come around to this, to _us_. So he’ll just slip into sulk mode and that’ll ruin my whole fucking day.)

 

“I’ll take her,” Carl whispers, before striding ahead of me to lift Judy into his arms. 

“I’ll take _him_ ,” I tease, to which Carl pulls a yakking expression and heads into the house with his precious cargo. 

I was only half joking really. I’d happily carry this man up the stairs to his… our… bedroom, if only he’d let me. But he has a reputation to uphold, still being the leader of his community and what-not. He stirs as I kneel beside him, rousing slowly at first, then shooting up in a flash. He looks past and through me like I don’t exist and fuck I’ve _got_ to get used to this humility shit all over again. 

“Where’s Carl?” 

“Inside, with Judy. Shh, he’s okay, he kicked ass, it’s all good…” I pull his face back towards me, stroking his hair back softly until he settles. 

He blinks a few times until his eyes clear of sleep and panic, and his usual veneer of fake hubris (isn’t that just the best oxymoron ever) falls back in place. 

“I’m okay too, by the way, in case that’s of any interest.” 

“Not really, no.”

 

“How are you? Are you okay?” _With this, with us, with magnets and shit?_  

He frowns, exactly like Carl does. “Why would I… what do you mean am _I_ okay?” 

Never mind. 

“Seriously Rick, you act like no one’s asked you how you’re doing in years.” 

He rolls his eyes and chuckles, lets me sit next to him on the recliner and hold him by the nape of his neck. 

“I’ve been dreaming about that mouth of yours all damn day. May I?” 

“You don’t have to ask every time, you know.” 

“Oh, but I do.” 

He caresses my face with a hand before leaning in to press his lips against mine. I close my eyes, hoping we’re not putting on a show for the neighbors, not that I care but think Rick does. 

All my worries evaporate when pure sensation takes over, the feeling of Rick’s surprisingly soft lips contrasted with the rough burn of his day-old stubble. I drown myself in his taste, his scent, his barely disguised, desperate craving for affection. I could stay here for ever and ever, or at least until Rick abruptly pulls back and breaks the damn spell.

 

“Something happened, didn’t it?” 

“Whatever do you mean?” 

He just _looks_ at me. God, these fucking Grimeses and their very effective glowers. 

“Carl said something, didn’t he? W-we haven’t talked about this yet, he’s been avoiding me. Did… did he talk to _you_?” 

I sigh and pull him back into my arms, leaning down over him until he’s on his back on the recliner again. I bend his legs at his knobby knees and pull them over to my other side so he’s straddling my lap. Basically I’m trying to get as physically close to him as possible on a fucking patio chair. But Rick is shaking from head to toe and not really in the mood to appreciate it. 

“Negan, please tell me. What did he say?”

 

It takes a couple of seconds to summarize my thoughts. I start to bite my lip, but end up licking it instead. “I… think he gave us his blessing. Kind of.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“He threatened to cut off your nuts, didn’t he?”

“Let’s just say he could’ve been one hell of a graphic novel writer in the real world.” 

Rick throws his head back against the chair. “Do I want to know?” 

“Not really.”

 

He searches my face for, what I’m not sure, maybe proof that I’m not lying my omission or something. I too study his face, zealously counting the multitude of eyelashes that make my heart ache harder for my dead wife. All her lashes fell out along with her hair in the last days of her... never mind, not going there tonight.

Eventually Rick smiles, that big wide smile one rarely sees in these end-times, and tilts his head to one side again. 

“So how about you accompany Daryl on his next run?” 

He probably thinks he’s kidding, except I know he’s not. I curl two fingers through the back of his hair and distract him while I seriously consider it.

 

Every day, I thank my lucky stars for the great reservoir of forgiveness and empathy in this man. And he’s obviously rubbed off on his son. Wonder if the same can be said for his brother – a man I’ve mistreated pretty fucking badly.

Guess I’ll just have to find out. Not because Grimes expects me to, because I want to.

“So Jesus tells me there’s this other shipment sitting at the Navy yard…”

 

**** || ** || END || ** || ****

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the deception in the first half :) I wonder if it's too jarring, let me know?  
> FYI, I love Richonne to death too, it's what drew me into the show! But now I really like the idea of Regan together too. The best (least angsty) way I could come up with was to send Michonne away for a bit, but she's not dead I promise :)


End file.
